


Couldn't Sleep At All

by cauldronofmorning



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: (nothing major just show level but not treated as a joke), 50s style internalized homophobia, Anal Fingering, Bipolar Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Bisexual Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, Bisexual Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan, Dom/sub Undertones, Edging, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Gender Play, Military Kink, Oral Sex, Pegging, Sexual Trauma, he's loud about it and she's trying to repress everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:00:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27780394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cauldronofmorning/pseuds/cauldronofmorning
Summary: Margaret didn't actually want a relationship with Hawkeye. What she did need was stress relief.
Relationships: Margaret "Hot Lips" Houlihan/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 17
Kudos: 38





	Couldn't Sleep At All

Margaret didn’t actually want a relationship with Hawkeye. It wasn’t even remembering the last time she tried, desperate for someone - anyone - to be kind to her after Donald’s letter and deciding she was in love with the first man who had anything in common with her, ending up having to fight down the urge to choke him, she just didn’t want a relationship at all these days.

What she did need was stress relief. And even if he wasn’t completely her type - nurses were completely off limits, and neither Lorraine or Helen were in the same country as her. Whenever a girl at Rosie’s gave her a knowing glance, her father’s voice rang in her head and it was suddenly impossible to move or talk.

It wasn’t as if she were against men. Sex in and of itself was fun - kind party boys didn’t set her heart on fire but they were enjoyable too - like pretty golden retrievers that could make her laugh and feel less lonely. As for Frank, Donald, and so many high ranking military men, did it really mean anything if the initial thrill wore off and she ended up thinking of an older girl in nursing school who wore men’s jackets and blew kisses to her female friends?

Anyway, Pierce. As he had proclaimed many a time - to her, to the majority of her nurses, to a few pretty pilots he made a show of dragging into a corner (just daring people to get angry with him) and prepositioning - he was up for anything. And chronically single, no matter how many times he loudly hung onto Hunnicutt and claimed he was an alternative wife - gazing at him longingly when he thought nobody was looking.

So he was more than happy to be the emotional or physical substitute for someone else. She got a distraction and he got to be useful in a situation where it was fun and not life or death.

-

It started after the cave incident. She’d been anxious after having to admit she was afraid of loud noises, wishing she could take the words back so they wouldn’t have to exist in reality, that she could keep pretending the army was the right place for her and she didn’t have nightmares of her father yelling. 

For his part, he’d been wandering around outside too much. It wasn’t especially cold yet, and he slept and ate and did surgery so it wasn’t noticeable to anyone who wasn’t watching, but after a few nights of post-op duty and finding him pacing around the compound, she had to say something.

“Anything on your mind, Pierce?” she asked, falling in line with him, not all that tired anyway.

He’d barely looked at her at first, his walking getting faster and hands clenching and unclenching. “Can’t a man pace in peace? Have a peaceful pace even.”

“Of course! But there’s precedent with you for something to actually be wrong.” Direct and to the point. Not that she didn’t enjoy wordplay, it just wasn’t the time for it.

And it did stop him. He finally looked at her and she could see in his eyes he was searching for something biting to offend her and get her off his back. Maybe he decided against it. “In case you haven’t noticed, Major, I’m not the only dysfunctional one around this junction.”

Three years in and she still felt as if she was in a playground with actual warfare. “Did you just max out your honesty quota in the cave and now have to act like a child for the rest of the war?”

She expected him to get angry from the way he opened his mouth (she refused the little voice that told her to be scared of loud men), but he closed it again and ducked his head, all the fight gone. “I’m tired.”

“Do you want me to get BJ?”

“No!” From the question he probably knew she was about to ask, the words came flying out of him, “He’s fine we’re fine this isn’t anything, unlike one dearly departed to the great land of Iowa corporal my roomies aren’t actually my father figures.”

Sometimes he had a draining effect on everyone around him - she wasn’t in the mood to guess what was on the Hawkeye breakdown wheel today. “Challenge for you, tell me what’s wrong in twenty words or less.”

He counted the words on his fingers. “Going inside places and being normal makes me feel bad. Tired of talking. Miss when people assumed I was wacky.” Then he stuck his tongue out at her, never one to not gloat.

She thought about telling him that maybe he was whitewashing the past a bit, that even near the start the nurses talked amongst themselves about him - sure he was charming with lovely eyes, but including your fear that your father will have left home by the time you get back in your flirting was a little weird, right?

Instead, she just sighed. “What would help?”

He gave a short barking laugh. “Well Margaret, getting plastered doesn’t help, you, me and everyone we know are putting off the pranks until March. I was thinking: grab a business girl or find a marine and get railed loud enough that it’s an automatic dishonourable discharge for the both of us.”

She blamed the anxiety buzz in her brain for what she said next. Plus it wasn’t as if she could tell him she felt scared whenever he said something like that - both for herself and what accepting that part of herself might do - and fear for him too. He acted so cocky and sure of himself all the time, and she knew this army, remembered Frank coming to her shaking after officers thought he was one of  _ them _ . Even though he’d been lucky so far, Hawkeye might come across someone who wasn’t easy to beat or outsmart, who wouldn’t like being mocked with the idea that what he really needed was another man’s hand on his dick to calm down.

“Why bother with that when you have my tent?”

As easy as breathing he slid right back into smirking lechery. “What was that before about being able to live without me?”

She put up a hand to stop him before he got too disgusting and made her back out completely. “Few ground rules, Captain. This is nothing but stress relief, I’m on top and you don’t go bragging to the entire camp.” 

“Our reputations precede us, Margaret,” he teased with a big grin, like they were on the same level with the same priorities and hers didn’t have far more potential for malice.

She took a step and closed her hand around his wrist. He was taller than her, but she still stared him down and could feel his pulse racing. “Yes or no, Hawkeye.”

He looked vaguely terrified and like he didn’t trust his own mouth to not make a joke but nodded.

-

That was a few weeks ago. As easy as it could have gone the way of Frank again, hiding and making plans and pretending - and much as that was her instinct to hide a sexuality she felt embarrassed by, apparently you could just walk out on movie night and nobody really minded if you didn’t make a fuss.

But when they were on stock duty alone, him checking and her writing things down, and he asked so casually if she was up for actually fucking him properly - she tried to think of a reason Potter would accept for her pen smudging which wasn’t her jumping in shock.

(“Thought you ran off when Inga wanted to, y’know…” she’d asked him. 

“Different when I’m not the one who decided it,” he said, popping a piece of BJ’s wife’s cake into his mouth.)

After all, it was technically legal. He was a man, she was a woman - they were both doctors and she had the excuse of needing “medical aids” ages ago for her own enjoyment when Frank was particularly loathsome or Donald was distant. Two of them. Well buried under her bed. Just because he wasn’t straight and neither was she, well that fact never needed to come up.

She’d still needed to cobble up some straps to harness the toy, so they couldn’t do it right away, but after a couple of nights in Tokyo (“go to the tea shops! They probably accept women!” he’d urged her, she’d ignored him), everything was ready and she was looking at herself in the mirror- she was trying to get used to the surreal image of her hair in a messy bun, cute pink pajamas and a bulge in her pants.

She opened the door after she heard a flamboyant little knock. He hadn’t dressed up, just fatigues and probably a couple days of stubble, complete with a delighted leer as soon as his eyes went to her crotch.

“Well now I feel underdressed.”

Maybe it was an idea next time to take out her cosmetics, rub some lipstick onto his mouth, see how blue his eyes could look with some black eyeliner. But she already had a gnawing guilt for indulging this much playing with gender (let alone when an enlisted man called her “sir” out of reflex and it felt nice), she didn’t need to make it worse.

Taking a breath, she placed both hands on each side of his waist, like she’d seen both McIntyre and Hunnicutt do when they wanted to calm Hawkeye down. “Do you really need to bounce so much?” She could feel his body shuddering happily and easing down. 

“Let me be excited,” he said, theatrically throwing himself on her bed like a skinny pale version of a pin up girl. “I’ve wanted this particular event for six years.”

She raised an eyebrow, nurse instincts kicking in even if she was tightly wound and didn’t quite want to deal with Hawkeye in disconnected from reality mode. “1947?”

He blinked, thrown off for a second, and all she could hear was autumn wind picking up outside. But he was like a stray cat on a military base her mother didn’t want her to go near, always wriggling his way back in when he got thrown out. He stretched out harder, propping his elbow up on her pillow and batting his lashes. “Wanted you before I even met you, exactly.”

Deciding to not press the issue, she joined him on the bed and straddled his chest. His eyes again went to her crotch and his hands gripped her thighs. “Wanna see if I can deepthroat this thing?”

She’d known him for an interminably long time yet he could still make her blush. “Joking?”

He looked like he was trying his very best to look angelic. “Maybe.”

Glancing back, she could see a bulge growing in his pants. He saw her notice and wriggled his hips suggestively. “Not that I can’t make it fun in other ways, Major, but we should probably get a move on.”

She tutted in a motherly way, something that she knew excited Frank, and leaned forward, curling her hand against Hawkeye’s neck. Just a little squeeze got him to widen his eyes and purr. “What did we say?”

He looked like he wanted to say so many things. She didn’t need or want him to be her good little soldier boy, just indulge her a bit. “You outrank me.”

Her hand slowly went from his throat to silvery black hair and she tugged as reward. “Thank you. There’s a small tub of KY jelly on the floor, I’m going to get it and you’re going to lower your trousers.”

For the first time in a while, he actually looked disconcerted and shy. “I’ve seen your nails Margaret. If you wanted to you could have slit Frank’s throat.”

She waggled her fingers on her dominant hand in front of him, showing off the filed down nails on her index and middle fingers. He smiled gratefully and ran his tongue down them, relatively chaste but as a thank you before she loaded both of them with surgical lube and his eager hands went to his belt.

She lowered herself down to his stomach, as this way her fingers could easily open him up and she could still reach his mouth. She expected the whine and arch when she made her way in, she didn’t expect the almost - (you needed to stiffen your body - she couldn’t expect that from anyone being fingered) accurate salute.

“Really?”

“Seemed- aah – appropriate.”

Cursing her predictability, she crashed her lips to his, flattening her body against him and with her hand still inside him. They hadn’t actually kissed much. His mouth was always warm and willing for her to take the lead, maybe remembering her taking him down outside the mess tent. For her part she appreciated him a lot, but his scratchy stubble always reminded her of what she didn’t allow herself to have.

It felt strange to grind against his leg, feel his erection, while she had a dick of her own. Kind of nice? Not that she’d admit that, or think about it ever again when she finally left here. Hell, all her sicknesses might go away and be replaced with a pretty white picket fence, blonde children and a faceless, generically built husband who spent most of his time at work.

Amidst… all that, she noticed that his hand was going to his crotch and she grabbed his wrist, trapping it against his waist. She was having to stretch herself out a bit, hovering over his pelvis and torso, but he was narrow and, more importantly, not fighting her.

“Didn’t you tell me once you wanted to be tied up in my tent?” A quick press of her lips on his neck got a puppyish whine. “Maybe I should take you up on that. Leave you here aching hard and send you away empty when I want to sleep.”

He opened his eyes, looking betrayed. “You wouldn’t.”

She met his gaze, a perfect leer on her face copied from all the times he’d made the same expression at her. “Do I hear an uncle?”

It only took him a second, even if it involved a small sneer and gritted teeth. “Uncle.”

Letting his wrist free, she grazed her knuckles against his dick while working her other hand’s fingers out of his asshole. He was already far too close, breathing hitched and  squirming underneath her. “Good boy. Turn over.”

With a slight huff, he did so, shuffling his pants further down so she could get behind him comfortably. Smothering more lube onto the dildo, genuinely not wanting to hurt him, she grabbed his hips and manoeuvred her way in as slowly as she could. He was rigid still and no matter how much he was trying to hide it, she could hear him making pained sounds into her pillow.

“Hawkeye, if you’re not enjoying this-”

“Don’t be offensive, I enjoy everything,” he interrupted, not even close to pulling off the act.

She tried a line of reasoning that would appeal to him. “Lying and not having fun would ruin tonight and a lot of other nights, lover boy.”

“Good thing I got ruined long before Korea then.” Even when he was face down on her bed, he still said it in a breathless laugh, bragging, like it was something to be proud of. But he had relaxed, and if making horrible jokes helped him, then…

The position and rhythm took some getting used to once they got over the entry hurdle. It was a bit like riding a man, just inverted, and if she kept that in mind, it was easier to keep it going. Hawkeye had both hands in his own hair, making muffled moans. She hoped like anything he was enjoying himself. He hid so much by being as loud as possible that sometimes she couldn’t tell. 

“Honestly,” he mused a little later, off in his own world. “Leavenworth might be fun. You know I’d be popular with the big boys.”

Having to swallow down the nausea, doubled from growing up in the military and having to carry on after hands grabbed her in mistaken tents, she choked out a, “Too far, Pierce.”

A part of her, a tiny, resentful, exhausted part of her that remembered how he and McIntyre had used her, let her be attacked to humiliate another man, and felt like they’d won afterwards, thought,  _ let him see how it felt to be pinned down in the dark _ . She immediately shoved that down, buried it, pretended it never existed. That intrusive kind of cruelty was too much to process, and anyway. Bad things happened. As her dad kept telling her, head up.

He curled in on himself a little, chastened. “I’m sorry.”

Getting herself into a position that wouldn’t strain parts she needed for long hours of helping with surgery, she thrust into him sharply, telling both him and her brain it was okay, and wringing out a sincere sob from his mouth.

“Can’t imagine what your father will think,” he then said, almost dreamily. 

She suddenly had a flashback of her father barking her name. She was terrified that he’d found out about Lorraine stealing her wine and how they’d collapsed into giggles when Margaret was on top of her, tongues in each other’s mouths, swapping it between them and making a mess. He’d just wanted to tell her about a family friend making general, and how Benny might be able to help her out one day.

“Excuse me?”

He either didn’t notice how strained her voice was or didn’t care, carrying on. “Getting a lowly captain pregnant.”

She gave him a ringing slap on the hip, frustrated that he made enjoying his company harder than it had to be. “You’re incurably perverted.”

“Major,” he said, voice taking on the tinge of righteousness it did whenever the war came up. “You have a dick in me, don’t take Sophie out for a ride.”

She ran her tongue over her teeth, willing herself to not start a fight with him and instead rolling her hips, hitting a sweet spot and inducing a high pitched whine delivered into her red pillow. In truth she envied him, having a sexuality out in plain sight and being such a joke machine that everyone could be okay with it (accessible! Not scary!) or ignore it (it’s Hawkeye! He’s joking! He’s not actually like that, promise).

It made her think about clinging-giggling to Lorraine, skipping exercise classes and knowing that the teacher would go a hilarious red if she knew what they were reading and where their hands were on each other. Or how her head fluttered when Helen snuck her forbidden booze, and how the woman’s face had lit up with laughter when she coughed at the taste.

Maybe knowing she was distracted elsewhere, his hand found hers and squeezed. “You can be mean if you want.”

“How many more times can I call you a pervert before it gets old?”

He sounded breathier than normal. “Not- not like that. Sexy mean. You must know what I like.”

She knew he made jokes about wanting to be slapped around, got a bit starry eyed over a fantasy jock-bouncer-navy man picking him up and having their way with him, but she always imagined it was just that, jokes. Because being in the feminine role was so funny and men had to get their yucks in the army.

“Margaret,” he whined, putting three more syllables in her name. “Don’t be boring.”

She stilled, taking note of how he tried to scramble to push up into her, thinking of what she could say. She’d fired back in the earlier days, plenty of times, but she was more of a “good boy you followed my orders” type of lover and this was new territory. A lot of this was new territory. 

A tiny cruel part of her brain, that sadly still had the voice of Frank Burns, thought about really digging into the parts she knew full well were fragile: that Trapper probably wasn’t thinking of him, that BJ was a good man and wasn’t going to betray his vows with someone who had to use sex and make jokes every five minutes to get people to like him until they moved onto someone else.

Maybe he expected her to say those things, give him an excuse to have that final breakdown that was creeping through the tent cracks. But she wasn’t going to help send him to a rubber room, especially after she and Frank had actually tried, even if Hawkeye’s revenge had gone overboard and she might have had that right.

“If you had your way,” she started, thrusting achingly slow and watching as his fingers clenched in her sheets. “You’d be bent over the mess tent tables and everyone would get a go.” She placed her palm on the small of his back under the fatigues, he was shaking. “By descending rank,” she finished, an extra flourish to make the nasty fantasy attractive to her.

He was getting there, a “more details” demand muffled by biting into his wrist so that he couldn’t moan so loud.

“Okay.” She’d known him for three years, overheard rumours, pieced together trends in his jokes, even when she hadn’t wanted to. “There’d be a lull on, the few soldiers in post-op are doing well and playing cards, you wouldn’t have to think or take responsibility or be in control, just safely do what you’re so good at. Then, after everyone is done and you’re a boneless sight for sore eyes, someone big and tall and kind will gently help you take a shower and then you can sleep for as long as you want.”

His voice sounded rough and near tears. “Margaret, marry me. There must be a lavender field in this country somewhere...”

She thrust in deeper, her own breath ragged even if she wasn’t close to her own orgasm. The dildos, both the ones she had, were cheap and not double ended. It was a surprise that it had held up this long. “Is there even a fetish you don’t have?” she teased, far too focused on his squirming and arching to bother hating him a little.

“Wouldn’t like electroshock. Would mess up my hair.” It was a bizarre mix of a joke, a moan thanks to what she was doing to his prostate, and what seemed like close to a confession. She would have prodded him harder if he wasn’t coming with a scream and she had to jerk up to hold his head down into the pillows in case someone panicked and rushed in.

They stayed, collapsed, there for a second. It wasn’t even comfortable for Margaret. Hawkeye was too bony to be a good pillow, sweat had seeped through his fatigues, he was breathing heavily and she really hoped his… orgasm hadn’t leaked through the blankets they’d put down. But it was nice to slot together, even if just briefly and it was pretend.

Until he started wriggling, anyway. “Okay daddy,” back to irreverent. “Get off. I’m starting to ache.”

She shifted and eased out of him, instinctively patting his shoulder when he hissed at what she assumed was the pain in it coming out.

When he got to his feet she half expected him to do a half hearted goodbye salute and walk out, as a lot of men did when they got their pleasure taken care of. Instead he seemed to make sure this was what he wanted to do, fluffed out his shirt like coat tails and collapsed to his knees, not even wincing at the connection with the hard, wooden floor.

“Do you have to be so loud about everything?” It was hard enough to cope with her own mind constantly telling her what persona would cause her less pain in what situation. She imagined his was like a circus tent propped up by five little men who couldn’t pay attention to each other and kept panicking when it nearly fell down.

“Loudness brings attention, Margaret. You know I love to drown in attention.” He wasn’t being honest, just playing a role and dragging her along with him, she could tell by the way his hands were clinging to her legs and he was craning his neck up to look at her with big comically submissive eyes when he didn’t have to.

It’s not like she hadn’t been eaten out before. To varying degrees of success of course and only a few times, she knew generals whose wives would never tell them they were awful, but Frank was surprisingly good at it. But they’d always been on top of her in bed, crouched between her legs. To be sitting in a tent, a long penis higher than her navel and Hawkeye on his knees in front of her, felt too much.

“Pierce…” Saying his true name would have felt wrong too. There must have been people outside, or wounded would come, or somehow someone anyone would find out and realize how sick they both were.

“If you don’t want this I can stop,” he said, voice serious. “And we can sit on the swamp porch and talk about boys.” Always having to soften the moment and try to make it funny.

It wasn’t like she could tell him what she wanted. She wanted a specific moment back in school, hiding in the bathrooms because her English teacher was scary, Betty brushing her hair back and leaving a soft sheen mark of lipstick on her forehead.

But if she couldn’t have that moment back, couldn’t have this entire war fade away and show up at Lorraine’s doorstep free and not afraid, this was at least an interesting replacement.

“At least replace the dildo. This one’s been in you.”

A mock salute and he looked around. “Where do you keep ‘em? I’m not Frank, about to rummage through your things.”

She pointed under the cot to where it was wrapped with a couple of blankets to conceal it and he produced it with a flourish before she managed to replace what was in her harness. Then she sat back, still avoiding the wet spots he’d left, imitating the kind of man she kept seeing who felt they were owed a blowjob. It only seemed to spur him on, shuffling forward, taking the tip in one hand and licking the underside.

“Why are you excited?” she asked curiously. “Most men seem to find reciprocating a chore.”

“It’s the fun kind of thank you! I don’t like to leave my nurses hanging.” She still didn’t know how he managed to make almost every sentence into a wink.   
  
“And most of the enlisted men, right?” He glanced up at her for a second, not as much hurt as just trying to gage how much to give away. She hadn’t meant it to be mean. She didn’t have the same disdain for non-officers as she used to, and as much as anyone razzed him, he was a doctor who could be sensible and do what he wanted.

“Actually,” he smirked, not quite letting her into his brain while still grazing at her inner thigh. “A few pilots, some soldiers in tea shops, a  _ couple _ of enlisted men who’ve heard about aunt Hawkeye’s rep. Just because I’m the camp bicycle doesn’t mean everyone knows how to ride, right?” He didn’t say the “you should know”, but she felt it.

There was no time to dwell though, as he had slid his hand down to the base (not her base though, payback for driving him insane with the fingering earlier) and keeping his eyes on her, he took the dildo into his mouth and worked his way until it hit the back of his throat.

“How did a small town boy from Maine get so good at this,” she cooed, more relaxed and gently scratching his scalp with her nails.

He came back up, hands finally working at the base but letting the dildo slip from his mouth, and grinned lopsidedly at her. “Paid my way through med school. Or it’s how I got older boys to like me. Haven’t decided which joke to do yet.”

She kicked him softly, not able to resist a grin of her own. “Shut up.”

He leaned his head against her leg, trailing one hand lazily up and down the cock, staring up at her with angelic eyes. She half-thought about taking her gun and lazily dragging it along his stubble to see if righteousness won out and he’d storm out all riled up, or just open his mouth and let her take control of keeping him safe. “Make me.”

She nodded firmly. “Okay.”

Interlocking both her hands behind his head, she shoved him down and held him there. He wriggled and made choking sounds around her—no,  _ the _ cock.He was digging his fingers into her thighs (she might have bruises the next day), but took the challenge, burying his face between her legs and working his tongue around the base —even as both his eyes and mouth were streaming from the chunk of plastic down his throat.

Eventually, he made a fist and hit her inner thigh with the side of it, their agreed non-verbal safe word, and she let him back up. Unlike before, with mockingly big submissive eyes, this time he was really looking at her like she was God, gasping and his face a wet mess. “Where do you want me, Major?”

She was close enough to not want to mince her words. “Tongue inside me please.” Who really cared if he made fun of her later?

Happily, he dove in, swirling his tongue around her clit and holding the cock out of the way, even if it was still dripping with saliva onto his hair.

She slightly adored him in this moment, and felt the need to reward him with humor, even if it did feel like she was edging herself. “If I tell you a funny story will you promise to not cackle like you do?”

He resurfaced, curious and eyebrow quirked. “I make no promises. But I’ll try.”

She ran her hands over his hair, settling at the back of his neck and squeezing gently in a bid to get him back to giving her attention. “So this was a while ago, before I was married. I got invited to one of those high brass meetings-”

“Please tell me this gets interesting soon,” he interrupted, laughing into her flesh when she gave him a brisk slap upside the head.

“Anyway! So it was colonels and low star generals after a few drinks, it’s excellent wine, and they start talking about nurses. Who they’ve had, which MASH unit had the easiest women.” She remembered holding onto her wine glass tight enough that it might snap, knowing in this instance she couldn’t even pull rank on these men. “And one colonel mentions a pretty, skinny eager little thing with big blue eyes. How  _ she _ moved well and could be in burlesque.”

His mouth left her clit as he sat back on his heels and his brain processed. “That idiot film guy is a colonel now?”

“That he is.”

“And he had to act like I was a woman to get away with thinking I was hot?” She could see his eyes start to crease up with joy—he was definitely going to wake BJ up to brag.

At her nod, his hands found her thighs again and he bent his back to her, bowing as dramatically as he could while on his knees. “Margaret you’re a queen, this will bring me great laughter for at least a week.”

“If I’m a queen, then-” His theatricality was infectious, what could she say? But she was promised an orgasm and she deserved one.

He did his job, and she was thankful for only slight laughing that vibrated through her as she moaned loudly into a pillow that she’d gripped over her face. Coming down felt like floating, and she knew she could finally sleep.

She took off the harness and he wiped his face, not seeming to care that he looked, well, like he’d been fucked. “Wanna catch the end of the movie with me, Margaret?”

“No. Thank you, Captain.” Formal, like she used to be, but hoping he caught the appreciation. “I would like an early night.”

Hawkeye looked like he was going to say something, but instead just nodded with a smile and a knowing expression. “Sleep tight, Margaret,” he said, before leaving.

After putting down extra covers to avoid the areas of wetness until morning, Margaret closed her eyes and dreamed peacefully of a woman with piercings in her ears and wine stains on her lips.

**Author's Note:**

> This started as "if there's no Margaret/Hawkeye pegging fic I'm going to make it myself" and ended up as slightly sad smut. Hopefully I got the balance right, and thank you to Nomi for the beta.


End file.
